“What’s happening?” Persephone asked.
Arion continued to look back into the collapse of the cavern in shock. “It’s still alive…only…it isn’t. It’s not alive at all. It never was. I think. I think it’s…” The Miralyith’s face blanched. “Oh, holy Ferrol, that’s not possible!”
“What isn’t?” Persephone asked, though she didn’t need the answer. Everything was made clear by Arion’s words. They were buried a mile or more beneath the roots of a mountain, across a foreign sea, and their one lifeline had slipped back into speaking in Fhrey because she was terrified.
Brin, Roan, and Moya stood oblivious to what was being said. They looked at Persephone for answers. She had none.
The dwarfs had heard, and they understood.
“But you’re Miralyith,” Frost said, bewildered.
“Miralyith are only good at killing Belgriclungreians,” Flood snapped. “Now she’s killed three more.”
“What?” Moya asked. “What’s going on?”
“It’s not dead,” Persephone said.
“What do you mean it’s not dead?” Moya stood with a hand on one hip, the other pointing at the rubble with conviction. “Suri crushed it three different ways and buried it. What makes you think it isn’t dead?” She sounded angry. Like everyone else, she wanted it to be true.
Then they felt the tremor.
Moya rolled her eyes. “Oh, by the rotten heart of the Tetlin Witch. You—are—kidding—me!”
Moya shouted at Roan to run just as Persephone found Brin’s hand and the four began their retreat, chasing the three dwarfs back up the path.
“What do you want me to do?” Suri’s small voice asked Arion.
Persephone expected some complicated magical jargon, something about gathering, and focusing, and summoning, and harmonizing. Instead, Arion shouted, “Run!”
Brin pulled—nearly dragged—Persephone along. Together they plunged back into the Agave. Once inside, they stopped and caught their breath.
Will it follow? Can it squeeze in the doorway? Of course it can! This is where it came from!
“What are we going to do?” Brin asked, her voice shaking as if she were freezing to death.
Struggling to catch her breath, Persephone managed to get out, “I don’t know there’s anything we can do.”
Moya followed Roan in and, turning back to face the opening, drew her sword. As pointless as it seemed, Persephone loved her for it. Taking another round of deep breaths, Persephone drew her own weapon and joined Moya. With tears slipping down her cheeks, Brin swallowed, and she, too, drew her blade. Roan glanced at her own side, appearing surprised to find that she also had a sword. She pulled it free of its scabbard.
“Keep the tip up but hold it back like this.” Moya demonstrated, raising the weapon level with her face. She held her arm cocked and close to her body, the point aimed forward.
“Do you honestly think it matters?” Persephone asked even as she imitated Moya.
“If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.”
Persephone nodded. “Sure…okay…good point.” She was babbling out of nervous fear but what did it matter? What was there to care about anymore?
“Keep your left foot in front,” Moya shouted. “And when that thing comes at us, step forward with your right as you swing or thrust.”
“Which is it? Should I swing or thrust?” Roan asked.
Moya swallowed. “Ah…I don’t know. Whatever feels good at the time, I guess. Just try to hit it.”
“This metal is amazing.” Roan marveled at the weapon in her hands.
“Not now, Roan! Focus!”
Suri, Minna, and Arion flew through the opening, nearly running into them. Persephone couldn’t help noticing Arion was rubbing her head again.
“Where is it?” Moya asked.
“Still buried,” Suri replied.
Arion looked at the swords. “What do you plan to do with those?”
“Whatever we can.” Moya challenged the Fhrey with a glare. She was in a fighting mood.
Arion simply nodded.
“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Frost said to the Fhrey. “You had no problem in the forest. Quit relying on this girl. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. You need to finish it.”
“Is that why it didn’t work?” Suri asked Arion. She had a desperate, guilty expression. “Is it because I—”
“It’s not your fault,” Arion said. “I couldn’t have killed it, either. Balgargarath can’t be killed, because it isn’t alive.” The Fhrey glared at the dwarfs.
She looked back at Suri. “Didn’t you feel it? Didn’t you see it?”
“It looked…bright,” Suri said. “Like…I don’t know. Almost like…a chord.”
“That’s because it is. It’s not solid, not natural, its form isn’t made, it’s cast. It has its own song, its own pattern. It is the Art manifested into corporeal form. I’ve never seen anything like it. I would have said such a thing is impossible, but I tried to push against it and nothing happened, as if it weren’t really there, as if it were smoke.”
She switched to Rhunic and continued. “Neither you nor I can harm it.” She looked at the naked weapons. “I don’t think anyone can.”
“Then it’s over.” Frost’s mouth hung open, his arms dropped limply to his sides.
“We should have kept going north when we were in Rhulyn.” Flood’s hands came up and grabbed the sides of his head.
“Not over yet.” Arion looked to the dwarfs. “Seal the opening.”
“That won’t do anything. The rock here is brittle. It won’t stop that thing,” Frost said.
“I’m going to help,” Arion replied.
“You said you couldn’t hurt it,” Persephone said.
“I can’t, but I should be able to slow it down. Stop it even.” She made fists with both of her hands and butted them together, knuckles-to-knuckles. “The Art doesn’t work against itself, understand? So I can do nothing to Balgargarath. I’m hoping it works both ways. We just need to create a barrier between it and us.”
They all felt the ground shake. Everyone looked out the opening at the distant blue light that was the remaining half of the cavern.
“And hurry,” Arion said. “It’s breaking free.”
True to their word, Frost and Flood were superb builders. Using stone they found in the rubble, and what Rain broke up for them, they rapidly chipped, fit, and stacked a tight stone wall that filled up the crack.
As they worked, the tremors grew stronger and more frequent. It wasn’t long after the last few stones were placed that Balgargarath could be heard breaching the surface of the cave-in.
Arion didn’t wait for Suri this time. The Fhrey started her own little song.
“What are you doing?” Suri asked, worried. Although Persephone didn’t understand why the mystic would be so concerned.
“It’s okay, this is small.” Despite her words, Arion sat down slowly.
A moment later the beast reached the door. They all felt the quake as it slammed against the pile of stones. Arion stumbled backward with the jolt. The barricade shifted slightly but held. Another shudder shook the chamber, then two more. This time the rocks didn’t move at all.
Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)
Michael J. Sullivan's books
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